


the love, the dark, the light, the flame

by wishie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fantasy, M/M, Manhunt AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishie/pseuds/wishie
Summary: George has been hunting Dream for the better part of a year now. Somehow, Dream is a few steps behind, a few steps forward, and a few steps in between, all at once.Or, George is on a mission, while Dream tries to get him to remember all the things he’d rather forget. Manhunt fantasy AU.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 144





	1. the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found

**Author's Note:**

> story title from “as it was” and chapter titles from “talk” by hozier.
> 
> thank you to godmarked and emmabobemma for betaing! 
> 
> disclaimer: Anaphora by Athena Lionheart is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial 4.0 International License. this fic is dedicated to, and the concepts contained credited to, athena lionheart. athena, i hope i do your world justice.
> 
>   
> **content warning for an at times abusive and problematic dynamic, suicidal thoughts, and one semi-explicit sex scene.**

_71 of Aestas, 9995_

_Tristias Desert, Avaditas_

Oh, skies, but he was tired. The desert stretched in front of him, blank, empty, parched dryer than bone. 

_Bones are usually wet,_ his mind helpfully supplied. George rubbed at the space between his eyebrows, the iron of his gauntlets chafing at his fingers. His waterskin made an empty sound as it hit his chestplate, and he was so, so tired.

The last thing he wanted was to chase Dream across the forbidding Avaditan desert. A hundred miles from the nearest city, three hundred from the capital, and not a single thing as far as the eye could see except sand. Gritty, terrible sand, sand that kept getting stuck in his eyes, and _skies,_ no payout was worth this. 

He considered travelling through the Nether, but at least, this way, he had a trail. He had an enchanted compass. He had to keep moving if he wanted to make more ground before daybreak. 

There was something glinting in the moonlight ahead of him. He trudged toward it, and flexed a finger. Metal. He held up a hand, and it flew into his grasp. 

It was one of Dream’s arrows. 

George’s eyes narrowed. He twitched his hand, and the shaft bent impossibly atop his palm, crumpling like paper. Dream was some distance behind him now, but he knew that wouldn’t be true for long. He tossed the arrow over his shoulder, a grim warning for Dream to find, a promise of punishment to come.

“I hope you rot out here,” George said out loud. “I hope you curl up into a ball and _die_ so I can finally go home.”

 _You don’t really,_ Dream whispered in his ear.

“I really, really do,” George said.

 _But if I died,_ Dream murmured, his voice tinged with amusement, _who would tell you there’s an outpost twenty miles west?_

George paused in his step. “You better not be bullshitting me.”

_Would I lie to you, George?_

George pressed his lips together, as he recalled the time Dream had, in fact, lied to him.

 _Fine,_ Dream amended. _Would I lie to you now?_

“You’re not even here,” George said. “Why don’t you just come and make this easier for me?”

 _What’s the fun in that?_ Despite the words themselves, Dream’s tone was wistful, and a little sad. _I’m just trying to make you remember._

“There’s nothing to remember,” George said, and began the walk west. “I will kill you, Dream.”

Dream didn’t reply. George sensed disapproval, and a little reproach. “You brought this on yourself,” he said, shoving the feeling of guilt to the side.

A laugh. _You’ll have to catch me, first._

“If it’s the last thing I do,” George said, and continued on, through the desert.

Dream had been right. There was an outpost twenty miles west, a small village, really. Nothing more than a single saloon and a few scattered houses to offer shelter from the scorching winds. 

He arrived just as the sun was beginning to rise. The floorboards of the saloon creaked below his feet. There was one woman behind the counter, wiping an already-immaculately clean glass.

“I just need some water,” George said, sitting down at the counter. “Please, tell me you have some water.”

The woman’s lips quirked. “Tough day?”

“You could say that,” George said, and pulled the waterskin from around his neck. “Could you fill this? I’ll pay for it.”

“We don’t get many people like you in town,” she said, giving him a once-over—his metal armor, the sword hanging at his belt. “Long way from Acritudo, isn’t it?”

George stiffened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Only a Cruelty Bearer would wear so much metal,” she said, turning to a rusty faucet. “And, pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“I’m,” George paused. “Not.” She passed back the waterskin, amusement in her eyes. “How much do I owe you?” He asked.

“Don’t take tokens here,” she said. “No use for them.”

“I got it,” a familiar voice interrupted, sliding a dark vial across the counter. George tensed. The woman snatched the vial, held it up to the dim light streaming from the saloon doors. Satisfied, she made a noncommittal noise and turned her back, giving them the illusion of privacy in the nearly empty room. 

“Dream,” George said. “Finally come to face justice?”

Dream snorted. “Look at you. Little soldier boy. Schlatt finally got to you, huh?”

“This has nothing to do with Schlatt,” George said, taking a sip of his water.

“Please,” Dream said. “Don’t act like this isn’t about your own twisted feelings of betrayal.”

“I’m doing the right thing,” George said. “Unlike some people I could mention.”

“C’mon, George,” Dream said. “Aren’t you _tired_ by now?”

“Aren’t you?” George countered. Dream considered this, tilting his head.

“Why are you still hunting me down?” He asked. “It’s been a year, at least. Who’s left that cares about a single Logic Bearer roaming Anaphora? Quackity? Tubbo? _Schlatt?”_

“Whatever the case, I have my job,” George said. He glanced at the woman, who was now humming as she wiped the counter. “Are you going to come quietly, or not?”

Dream pretended to consider the question. “Will I get chocolate on my pillow during turn-down service?”

“You—what?”

“The chocolate’s a dealbreaker,” Dream said. 

“Dream, I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I,” Dream said, and leaned forward. “Listen, George. I will die before you bring me back to Acritudo. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

“If you boys are going to fight, take it outside,” the woman said, not turning around.

“It’s not going to be much of a fight,” Dream said, eyes roving over George dismissively. “Even if he is a fancy government soldier now.”

“You’re underestimating me,” George said.

Dream laughed, and leaned in. “And you’ve always been over your head with me,” he whispered, lips brushing against the shell of George’s ear. A deep shudder went through George. He blinked, and Dream was all but out of sight, his cloak catching on the door of the saloon before he was gone.

The woman let out a low whistle. “Wish we had more men like that out here.”

“Oh, shut up,” George said. He could feel his enchanted compass going haywire at his belt, making little tinny noises as it spun out of control. He pushed the saloon doors open. Dream had vanished—maybe he was behind a building, or over the very large hill to the left, but George knew he’d lost him. _Again._

 _Seriously, fuck this guy._ He tapped a finger on the compass, once, twice, and it settled. 

“Time to go,” George whispered, and began the trudge east.


	2. the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream pushes George over the edge.

_ “The Bearer Elimination Act of 9426 was set into motion on 37 of Aestas, amongst an upheaval of calls for change. Though Aitrai had been historically on the side of righteousness, it was clear that the brutality of renegade Aitrai, whose values had been warped beyond all reasoning, could not be allowed to continue. On that day, the three nations—Acritudo, Aspernor, and Avaditas—signed the document into being, vowing to cleanse the world of those who would wish to do it harm.” _

—The Standard Book of Anaphoran History, Grade Five

_ 53 of Cadere, 9995 _

_ The Nether _

George did remember, that was the problem. He remembered too much, in the dead of night, under the stars, or in cheap inns, sitting up, biting down on his knuckles in an effort to quell the urge to just  _ release, _ to make something  _ hurt, _ to make someone  _ pay. _ He remembered so much that some days he felt his head would split open with the effort of trying not to remember it at all. 

Tonight was no exception, though George was camped out on the edge of a lava lake, some hundred miles deep in the Nether. He’d spread a tarp on the netherrack, hoping against all hope that it wouldn’t explode the second he tried to sleep in it, but as luck would have it, he wasn’t able to sleep anyway. 

_ Remember when we camped in the Nether for fun? _

“Dream,” he said. “If you value your mental faculties, and the way they  _ work properly, _ you will stop talking to me right goddamn now.”

_ We were so young. _ Dream sounded wistful again.  _ So young, so starry-eyed. So in lo— _

“If you finish that sentence, I will make you hurt,” George said. “Stop talking in my head and come out if you want to have a conversation.”

“I caught you in a good mood, then, didn’t I?” Dream said. George looked up, and there was Dream, leaning on a column of netherrack like he hadn’t a care in the world. 

George inhaled sharply. “How long have you been there?”

Dream glanced over his shoulder. “Here? Not long. Have you been having nightmares again?”

“My nightmares are none of your business.”

Dream clucked sympathetically. “I think I know what would help with that.”

“There’s nothing that’s going to  _ help with it,” _ George snarled. “You don’t know  _ anything.” _

“Guilty conscience?” Dream asked. “Maybe related to that lovely medallion on your armor?”

George tensed. “None of this is any of your business.”

“Maybe not,” Dream said, lightly, “but shouldn’t you be proud? You happy, happy Academy graduate, you, the Cruelty honors student, valedictorian of the graduating class of Torturers and Executioners and—”

“If you don’t stop talking,” George said, his voice flat, “you’re going to regret it.”

“—but I remember,” Dream said, speaking louder, “the boy who finished his first training exercise, turned, and vomited all over himself.”

George stood. Dimly, he was aware of the lava crackling behind him, the tarp rustling as it slid off his shoulders, but his world had narrowed to Dream’s smug, smug smile.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said. His vision darkened as he let go. All his sadness, all his desperation, all his  _ rage, _ channeled into one infuriating man. He just wanted Dream to stop  _ smiling. _ He pushed, watched as Dream’s smile turned into a grimace, sweat trickling down his brow. Dream’s composure broke, and he sank to his knees, a low moan of pain escaping his lips. 

George pulled back abruptly at the sound. Dream was lying on the ground, cheek pressed into the netherrack. “Shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”

Dream gritted his teeth. He looked up at George, and George didn’t remember ever feeling so small in his life. “You’ve always had a certain grandeur when using that,” Dream said softly, weakly. His eyes closed, and a tear gleamed as it trickled sideways down his nose. It hissed at it hit the ground, a small wisp of steam escaping.. 

George took a single, shuddering breath.  _ I’m sorry, _ he couldn’t make himself say.

The corner of Dream’s lip quirked upwards. “I’m not going to say it’s  _ okay.” _

“Damn you telekinetics,” George muttered. 

“Just let me sleep for a bit,” Dream said. “You owe me that much.”

George sank back down onto the tarp and bit his lip. “Here,” he said, and slid his pack under Dream’s head.

“This is new,” Dream said. 

“Don’t get used to it,” George said. “I just…” He paused. “I feel bad about this.”

Dream laughed hollowly. “So he has a conscience, after all.”

“I’ve always had one,” George said. 

“Finally remembered, have you?” Dream asked. “Why not bring me back now, anyway? I couldn’t resist.”

“Like you wouldn’t run the second you recovered,” George said. “No, when I bring you back, it’ll be because I’ve defeated you beyond any shadow of doubt.”

Dream snorted, his eyes still closed. “Good luck with that.”

They sat in silence for a minute. George chanced a glance at Dream. 

“You gave it up,” he said. “Why?”

“S’not like I could’ve stayed. You know that.”

“Right,” George said, quiet. 

“And here we are,” Dream said. George didn’t think he was imagining the bitterness in the other man’s voice. “Diametrically opposed.”

A memory:  _ “I’m always going to be on your side, George.” _

Dream opened his eyes as George’s thoughts shifted, and George held his gaze. 

“This doesn’t change anything,” he told him. “I still have to deliver you to Acritudo.”

“I know.”

“I’d prefer not to kill you,” George said evenly. “But if I have to take your body back, I will.”

“Something has changed,” Dream said. “We’re even.”

“Even?”

“We’re two for two on hurting each other,” Dream said, closing his eyes. “And for the record, I don’t hate you.”

“Big words,” George said. 

Dream smiled. It looked more like a grimace, the baring of bloodstained teeth. “I’ve never done anything halfway when it comes to you.”

_ (Dream kissed like fury—his love felt like rage, and George could feel the flames.) _

George felt his throat close up. “Go to sleep,” he said, picking bits of netherrack off his pants so he didn’t have to look at Dream. “It’s business as usual in the morning.”

How old had he been when he’d sworn to love Dream forever?

He watched the lava pop. He took off his chestplate and fixed the dent he’d been meaning to repair for a week. He lay on his back and stared at the glowstone that dotted the cavern ceilings of the Nether. Without meaning to, he slept. 

When he awoke, the only proof Dream had been there at all was a single scrap of tattered blue fabric resting atop George’s pack, fluttering lightly, a single smiley-face smudged on it in ash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! i love to read all your comments, always :)


	3. the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and George share a drink. Dream extracts a promise.

_87 of Cadere, 9995_

_Mars, Aspernor_

He sipped his ale.

He should be hunting Dream, he supposed, but the compass hadn’t bugged out in days, and he didn’t think taking a single night off would hurt. The inn was noisy, but the sounds faded into the background. Dispassionately, he watched the other guests as they drank and danced, lost in his own thoughts.

He’d tried to call his gauntlet to his hand the day before, and it hadn’t obeyed. Calling on his Trait had just become harder. He chalked this up to his inconsistent sleep schedule, but it made him worry—if he couldn’t rely on his Trait, what could be rely on?

“You’re being clichéd,” someone said, breaking him out of his trance. “The subversive thing for you to do would be to actually enjoy yourself.”

“Dream,” George said. “What does that even mean?”

“I _mean,_ the whole—” Dream held up a hand, waved it down George’s body, “jaded soldier watching the innocents live their lives thing is played out and just makes you seem lame.”

“I will certainly not get paid enough for this,” George said under his breath, then, louder, “I’m assuming you’re still not interested in making this easy for either of us.”

“You say that like these last couple years have been hard for me,” Dream said. “No, I’m here tonight for peaceful purposes.”

“Peaceful,” George repeated. “What do you want?”

Dream shrugged and spread his palms. “One night where you’re not trying to kill me?”

George gave him a thousand-yard stare. “Another one?”

“Sure,” Dream said. “Wasn’t the last one nice?”

“I tortured you,” George reminded him. 

“Yeah, and then we shared a moment,” Dream said. “So let’s share another one.”

“I’m starting to think you’re actually insane,” George said. 

“Just starting to?” Dream smiled. “Oh, come on, George. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Do I?” George raised one eyebrow, and this time Dream was the one to look away. “Are you going to sit or not?”

Dream sat. The smug smile on his face was infuriating, as usual, but George wasn’t about to lose control tonight. “The nice thing about Aspernor,” he said, tipping the rest of his ale into his mouth, “is that alcohol isn’t illegal here.”

“I didn’t think anything was illegal here,” Dream said.

“Yes,” George said. “Psychopaths, the lot of them.”

“They’d probably say the same thing about you,” Dream pointed out.

“When you say ‘you,’ I’m assuming you mean Acritudo,” George said.

“Same difference,” Dream said.

“Right, and you want to get a drink with the arm of Acritudo because…”

Dream smiled again, wide and toothy, a delighted expression at odds with the circumstances. “Call me nostalgic.”

“You _are_ crazy,” George marvelled. “Crazier than I thought.”

Dream waved the barmaid over, ordered two mugs of ale. “You can call me crazy if it makes you feel better.”

“What would I need to feel better about?” George asked. The ale came, and Dream slid one tankard over to him. 

“You tell me.” Dream sipped his ale. “You’re the one who’s been chasing me all over Anaphora for a year.”

“Does this even qualify as a chase anymore?” George sighed. “It seems like you’re always where you want to be.”

“You volunteered for this, didn’t you?” Dream leaned back in his chair. “You wanted to break my spirit yourself.”

“I killed Spirit,” George reminded him, and Dream looked disgruntled.

“I told you before, we’re even now,” he said.

“You think you hurt me as bad as all this?” George asked. “You really, truly, think we’re on equal ground?”

“I do,” Dream said simply. 

George mulled on this for a moment. “You’re mad,” he said. “Barking, raving mad.”

Dream shrugged. “If you like.”

George’s eyes snapped up. Dream was already looking at him. “You can’t lie to a mind-reader, George,” he said. “And you’re smart enough not to try.”

“Is it hard?” George asked. “To be able to pick up people’s thoughts?”

Dream shrugged again. “Not really. I can pick up yours more easily, because I know you well—but for most people, all I get is the feel of their emotions.”

“Can you even access the other telekinetic abilities?” George asked. “Or is it just the mind-reading?”

Dream smiled weakly. “Moving shit with your mind is supposed to be easier than mind-reading, on the soul,” he said. “I wish I had that instead.”

“So it’s one or the other?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dream said. “It’s, well.”

“What?”

“I’ve run into a few other Aitrai,” he said, looking thoughtful. “One of them—an elderly Compassion Bearer—knew a Logic Bearer when she was young.”

George didn’t ask what had happened to this Bearer. He had a feeling he already knew.

“And you’d be right,” Dream said, his lips twisting. “But there are two types of Logic Bearers, apparently, and I guess…” He hesitated. “I guess I’m just the latter, rarer kind. Lucky me.”

George considered a world in which Dream could move things with his mind, compared it to the world they lived in now. “That might have been harder for you to hide,” he said. 

Dream didn’t flinch, but his eyelids flickered. “Probably.”

“Instead you’re a jumped up empath who has a direct link to my head,” George said, finishing off his drink. 

"It’s not like I wanted this," Dream said, his lips pressed into a thin line. "You think this is the life I wanted for myself? The life my parents wanted for me?"

"As if you care about what your parents think," George said, and Dream snorted, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said. “They can keep their family name and their titles and their fancy ass government jobs if they want.”

“Your parents are bastards,” George agreed. 

“I would’ve thought you’d agree with them at this point,” Dream said. 

“My hatred for your parents is separate from the way I feel about you,” George said. “Regardless of what we do to each other, I will hate your parents until the day I die.”

George couldn’t decipher the expression on Dream’s face. “Right,” Dream said. “Okay.”

“What?” George asked.

Dream shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ear, then looked up. “Our song is playing.”

George immediately wrinkled his nose. “Even if we had a song, which we don’t, this wouldn’t be it.”

“C’mon,” Dream said, getting to his feet and extending a hand toward George. “Dance with me.”

“Have you forgotten I’m trying to kill you?” George asked. 

“Like you could kill me,” Dream said. “C’mon, George. Where’s your sense of spontaneity?”

 _Down the drain a year and a half ago,_ George thought. Dream’s smile faltered, but his hand didn’t waver, and George groaned. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”

“You promised me one night,” Dream said, wiggling his fingers. “I intend to squeeze every last drop out of it.”

George took Dream’s hand gingerly. Dream didn’t comment, pulling George to his feet, leading him in a slow waltz. George, for his part, was holding himself stiff as a board, eyes fixed on Dream’s. Dream smiled and spun them abruptly, tugging George into his chest, a hand resting on his waist.

“Don’t,” George said, his heartbeat spiraling out of control.

“Don’t what?” Dream asked, looking down into George’s eyes.

“You know what,” George said quietly. The room had emptied during their talk, their only audience now the barmaid and the innkeeper, chatting at the counter, not looking in their direction. 

Dream bit his lip and looked away. The music—a song George vaguely remembered from years ago—played in the background, low, but the sound of that, too, faded as George focused on Dream.

“I just wanted to remember for myself,” Dream admitted finally, turning them slowly. He sighed, and the air swept over George’s cheek. 

George didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing, his fingers limp where Dream held them.

“George,” Dream murmured. “Can I ask you for something?”

George felt his heart freeze and his blood chill. “What?”

Dream gazed down at him for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“No, what?” George asked. “You’ve already asked for this much, what do you want?”

“I was just going to ask…” Dream’s grip on George’s waist tightened. “I don’t want to forget this,” he confessed, not looking at George but rather at something over his head.

George sighed. “I’m sure you won’t,” he said. “If I know you at all, I know that much.” 

He had no words for the feeling roiling in his stomach, rancor and disbelief and grief all at the same time. Dream, perhaps picking up on the tenor of his emotions, tugged George in further, so that George’s head was tucked into the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around him. George inhaled, catching the scent of burning wood and sweat and something he couldn’t name, still familiar to him after all this time. 

_I’m sorry,_ he mouthed against Dream’s shoulder, unable to make audible the words that he had been thinking for so long, the same words Dream had picked out of his head, over and over.

He felt rather than heard Dream sigh, and Dream’s response was strangely echoey, ratcheting off the insides of his brain. _Me, too._

George let Dream lead him around one more spin before he pulled away. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said. “Letting you lead me around—Schlatt wants me to bring you back dead or alive. You know what that means.”

Dream’s lips tightened. “So you do it? Whatever Schlatt wants you to do, you do, like a trained dog?”

“Yes,” George said. “But more than that, I want this, Dream. You might say we’re even now, but I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done.”

Dream inhaled. “Promise me one thing,” he said. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands,” George said.

Dream smiled tightly. “It’s not that kind of demand,” he said. “If I’m going to die, I want you to be the one to kill me.”

It was only George’s years of Academy training that made him able to control his instinctive flinch. “You want me to be the one to kill you,” he repeated.

Dream inclined his head. 

George sucked his cheeks in as he considered the implications of this. The scar on Dream’s cheek caught the light. “It’s the last thing you’ll ever have to promise me again,” Dream said.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I promise,” George said, “when the time comes, I will be the one to kill you.”

Dream closed his eyes, and when he opened them, George caught a brief flash of relief before they shuttered, steely and cold. “Good,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Soon,” George said. With one last terse nod, Dream shouldered past him and out the door of the inn. George, feeling every second of his twenty-eight years of age, went to the innkeeper and asked for a room. He felt like he’d need it.


	4. the immediate forgiveness in eurydice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George makes some personal revelations.

_89 of Nivalis, 9995_

_Cruore_

It was strange, actually. 

The last month—all ninety-one days of it—had been spent tracking in earnest. It seemed Dream was finally done with the mind-games, and with the shift had come true solitude. No one talking in his head. No one talking at all. It had become natural to him: the empty wind whistling in his ears. His blood quickening when he caught Dream’s trail. The hunt had become second-nature, and he embraced it as readily as he might embrace a lover. He’d been tracking Dream through forests and over mountains and into the Nether and out, and in all that time, only found faint traces of the other man. An arrow here. A strip of tattered, bloodstained cloth there. 

It was the rainy season in Cruore, and as George walked between the trees, cold water dripped onto his face, soaking his hair. His compass, glowing with its otherworldly light, grew warm in his hand. _He’s close._

Ahead, there was a spot where the trees seemed to thin, then they receded, and George was stepping into a clearing, Dream seated on the ground, his eyes closed. 

George’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “This is the end of the line, Dream.”

“That’s what you think,” Dream said, leaning back against the tree and closing his eyes.

“Sure,” George said. “It’s also just true.”

Dream laughed scornfully. “If you really wanted to bring me back, you’d have done it months ago.”

George took another step forward.

“Aren’t you _tired,_ George?” Dream’s voice dropped as he spoke. “Aren’t you _exhausted?_ You’ve been chasing me all over the world. Don’t you want to rest?”

“No, actually,” George said, drawing his sword. “I’m not tired at all.”

“Funny,” Dream said, opening his eyes. “Neither am I.” He made no move for his weapon. “It is funny, though. What are you hoping for, by bringing me back?”

“What do you mean?” George felt his sword arm drop. 

“You’re so underappreciated, aren’t you?” Dream asked. “You’re only a little more than a mercenary. I mean, eight years in the army, and what do you have to show for it? Schlatt’s most loyal, and you’ve never risen above your station.”

George gritted his teeth. “That’s irrelevant.”

“You’ve never really felt worthy,” Dream said. “Have you, George?”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” George snapped. 

“Yes, I would,” Dream said. His tone turned cautious. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do, actually,” George said. “Did you miss what I said every other time you’ve tried to convince me not to ‘do this’? I _want this,_ Dream.”

Dream got to his feet and took a step in George’s direction. “Do you really?”

George faltered. “I—”

“Do you want this, or is it that you’ve convinced yourself this is the only way?”

“Stop talking,” George said.

“You were happy, once,” Dream said, “You can be happy again—”

George squeezed his eyes shut. “Shut _up!”_

Water rose up between them and froze, the faint whisper of the crackling ice almost echoing through the silent clearing. Dream stared at him. George couldn’t read his expression.

“Did you…” George’s mouth was dry, searching for an answer he didn’t already know.

“No,” Dream said, shaking his head. “You’re a Persistence Bearer, George.”

The ice crumbled between them. George shook his own head, staring at his metal-sheathed hands. “I can’t be.” 

Dream reached out, his hand hovering over George’s shoulder. There was raw hope in his eyes, and George hated it. He hated everything about this moment—the vulnerability he felt. The ice piled up at his feet.

“Go away,” George said. His voice shook.

“George…”

“Go away,” George said again, and the ice grew back up. Dream pulled back, hissing. One of his leather gloves had been caught in the ice, and he pulled his hand free. 

“George,” Dream said, and quiet though he was, his voice carried. “Why do you think I’m always around?”

“Because you’re a menace,” George said. “And you like to flaunt how good you are at disappearing.”

Dream laughed. “If I wanted to disappear, I would,” he said, no trace of joking in his tone. “I’d get myself on a train to Last North and be gone before you even knew your compass was broken.”

The trickle of dread in George’s blood turned to a steady stream. “Why, then?”

“Because I haven’t given up on you,” Dream said. 

There were more words, hanging in the air, words George knew Dream had picked out of his brain, and words that he didn’t have to read minds to know that Dream would never say. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” George bit out. “Two counts of high treason. Does that mean _nothing_ to you?”

“Not really, no,” Dream said. “You’ve bought into this whole system because you’ve convinced yourself it’s better than the alternative.”

“What alternative? I’m a Cruelty Bearer, Dream,” George said. “And I’m _good_ at what I do.”

Dream paused. “You’ve always never been one to give up on a battle,” he said, seeming to choose his words with care. “And being… a Trait Bearer… is not… a bad thing.”

George stared at his hands, and felt his gauntlets warm. He straightened a finger, and with a little effort, the gauntlet flew off his hand, hovering before him. The ice wall between them crumbled again, and he hardly noticed. “I still have Cruelty,” he said, surprised.

“You do?” Dream stared at the gauntlet. “How is that even possible?”

George’s concentration broke, and the gauntlet fell into the piles of ice at his feet. Try as he might, he couldn’t lift it again, and he stood staring at the evidence of his failure. “I don’t think it is.”

“Try the water again,” Dream said, gently. 

George crooked a finger, and it was ridiculously easy to pull a chunk of ice to his hand, to melt it, to hold the ball of water, perfectly rounded, without spilling a single drop. “This can’t be happening right now,” he said, letting the water drip out of his fingers. 

“It’s happening,” Dream said. 

George tasted salt and realized he was crying. “Just leave me alone,” he said roughly, swiping a hand across his face. 

Dream took a step backwards. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

George took a shaky breath. “How do you keep finding me?” He demanded. “How is it that every time I turn around, you’re breathing down my neck?”

“You’ve got your compass,” Dream said, and pulled something small from his pack, a faint purple glow illuminating the tips of his fingers. “I’ve got mine.”

“I’ll still kill you,” George muttered. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“You don’t belong with Acritudo anymore,” Dream said, taking another step back. 

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” George rounded on Dream, shaking. “You think I don’t know I’m—I’m—” His voice broke. 

Dream studied his face. “Even if you bring me back, it won’t just be me they kill,” he said. “You’ll disappear. You think your years of service will matter to anyone? You think anyone will save you?”

“No,” George said. “I don’t.”

“Just as long as you know,” Dream said, his lips twitching with something between humor and pity. “I’ll be back,” he said again.

“Fine,” George said. 

Dream disappeared through the trees. George sank to his knees in the melting ice, feeling every one of his sins arrayed around him, laid bare. 

He buried his face in his hands and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've known this chapter would happen even before i started writing chapter one :') let me know what you think! i try to respond to every comment i get, and i love all your theories so much <3


	5. the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George realizes, that above all, what he needs is more time.

_ 12 of Ver, 9996 _

_ Cruore _

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dream said.

George was watching an ant crawl up a log. “Go to hell.”

There was a rustling, and Dream dropped to the ground next to him. “What are you looking at?”

“Like you don’t already know,” George said. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking about, too?”

“You’re thinking about Acritudo.” A heavy sigh. “Do you think about anything else?”

“These days? No.”

The ant made it to the top of the log before Dream spoke again. “I do understand,” Dream said. “How you’re feeling, I mean.”

“Right,” George said, propping his chin in his palm. 

“I mean… when I left…” Dream trailed off. “Before I left. I was… torn. I didn’t know what to do with myself, or how to go about living my life.”

“Did you ever consider turning yourself in?”

“All the time.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“At the time? I wanted to live,” Dream said.

“Is this living?” George asked, fixing his eyes on the ant. 

“Sure,” Dream said. “It kind of depends on your definition of living, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how you do it,” George murmured.

Dream hesitated. “Is there… anything I can do?”

George looked away from the ant to stare at Dream. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Dream said. “Seriously.”

George considered it, sitting back on his heels. “Fight me,” he said finally. 

Dream studied him, no small measure of curiosity on his face. “You know you’ll lose.”

“I know,” George said. He got to his feet and drew his sword. “Fight me anyway.”

“If you insist,” Dream said, and became a blur of motion.

It was all George could do to keep up—he hadn’t even seen Dream draw his sword, but there it was, slashing and stabbing. Just in time, George parried one of his blows, sending up a violent clash of sparks. 

The momentum knocked him off his feet. Dream advanced, gripping his sword with both hands, and stabbed downward. George met his thrust with one of his own, and, gritting his teeth and focusing, water rose around them, bubbled up from the ground. A steaming jet hit Dream’s sword hand, and he hissed, dropping the sword.

George used the distraction to clamber to his feet and  _ lunged, _ aiming for Dream’s throat. Dream blocked and struck George in the head with the butt of his sword. George fell to the ground again, and Dream disarmed him easily.

“You’ve been practicing,” George said.

“I have,” Dream said. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. “You haven’t.”

“No,” George agreed. “But I won’t be unprepared next time.”

Dream made a noncommittal noise and sheathed George’s sword at his waist, dropping his own sword down next to where George lay. “Yours is better,” he said.

“Bastard,” George muttered, but there was no heat in it. 

“My parents were married, unfortunately,” Dream said. “Are married. You’ll have to use ‘son of a bitch’ instead. Good fight, George. Practice your blocking, and try to use your Trait more, and you might be able to beat me someday.”

George tried to summon the normal hatred, but all he could come up with was a mild irritation. He sank to the ground, heedless of the melted snow soaking into his trousers. “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You had me and you knew it,” George said. “You could’ve killed me. Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t your time to die yet,” Dream said, wryness twisting his lips into something resembling a smile. “It’s not mine, either.”

“It’s never going to be, for you, is it?” George said, staring at the ground.

“Not as long as I can control it,” Dream agreed. There was the crunching of snow, the rustling of leaves, and Dream eased himself down next to George. “When I made you promise to kill me, that was more… insurance, I guess.”

“Insurance,” George repeated.

“I do mean everything I say,” Dream said, then paused. “Most things.”

“You tend to talk before you think,” George said.

“It’s a character flaw.” Dream tipped his head back. “I’m working on it.”

George let his thoughts wander, and before he knew it, he was recalling the day Dream had left, two years ago. The harsh words. The scathing tone of Dream’s voice. The visceral pain in his chest, flayed open under the panicked flailing of Dream’s knife. 

He remembered the emptiness in Dream’s eyes as he’d looked backward over his shoulder, halfway out the window. He remembered exactly how Dream’s lips had looked shaped around an apology.

“I’ll never be sorry enough,” Dream said quietly. 

“And I don’t think I’ll ever forget,” George said.

Dream made a small sound. “I don’t think I will, either.”

George glanced sideways at Dream, whose head was still tipped toward the sky, eyes closed.  _ I don’t want to kill him, _ he realized dully. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said aloud.

“Wasn’t it?”

“I would’ve killed you, if I could,” George said. “I still would.”

“I know,” Dream said. His head landed on George’s shoulder with a metallic  _ clunk. _ “I know you would. You can’t lie to a mind-reader,” he said, and George wished he didn’t sound so dead.

“And I’m smart enough not to try,” George murmured.

“You’ve always been the smart one,” Dream said. 

“And yet,” George said, and rested his head atop Dream’s.

_ And yet. _ Dream sighed. 

“What do I do now?” George asked, his voice hollow. “Where do I go from here?”

“You come with me,” Dream said, and held out his hand, like he expected George to take it.

“I go with you?” George pushed away from Dream. “Have you forgotten the last two years? Have you forgotten that I’m  _ still trying to kill you?” _

“Of course not,” Dream said. He flexed his fingers. “But you’re just as alone as I am, George. Banished from Eden. Where are you going to go?”

George stared at Dream’s still outstretched hand, then back at Dream. “I could take my chances back in Acritudo.”

“They’ll kill you the second they figure it out,” Dream said, lowering his hand. “Face it. You’ve changed. You don’t want to go back.”

“You’re wrong,” George said. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted to be back in his apartment by the water, the routine training exercises, the monotony of daily life. The fancy promotion that would’ve been—should’ve been—his. 

“Maybe,” Dream said, indifferently. George found the indifference bothered him more than the displays of emotion, and he turned away, looking through the trees, searching. 

What did he have left? A Trait he didn’t want. A country that didn’t want him. A target on his back. A shortened life that stretched ahead of him. He looked back at Dream, silhouetted in the fading light of the setting sun, and made his decision. 

“I want one thing,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I need some time,” George said. “To myself.”

“Haven’t you had enough of that?” Dream asked. 

“I need to think,” George said. 

“And when you’re done thinking?”

“Well, you’ll know, won’t you?”

Dream’s lips curved upwards. It wasn’t quite a smile. “I’ll find you then,” he said. 

“Yes,” George said. “You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends we're almost there :) let me know what you think!


	6. the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of

_ 45 of Ver, 9996 _

_ The Nether _

George disappeared into the woods. It was the best he could do.

Over the last thirty days, he’d pulled every trick in the book. He’d camped out in the Nether for fun, staring up at the glowstone. He’d gone back to the saloon in Avaditas and played darts with the locals. He spent a lot of time in the privacy of his own mind. He knew Dream was following him, but it bothered him less as the days went on. 

Schlatt sent him increasingly harried notes by messenger pigeon, and George ignored all of them.  _ Sooner or later, _ Schlatt had warned,  _ I will find you. _

George was strangely unbothered by all of this. He felt freer by the day. The only thing he had yet to decide was what he was going to do. 

One day, feeling particularly restless, he found a cliff overlooking an ocean of lava and bridged over it, carefully placing every block. Once he was in the middle, he sat, legs hanging freely in the air. 

_ What if I ended it all, right now? _

A voice sprang into his mind, unbidden.  _ I think you’d regret it. _

_ Would I? _ George pursed his lips, listening to the lava crackle below him, the faint cries emanating from the soul sand valley to the east.  _ Who would miss me? _ He asked, and there was no reply.

_ If I asked you to, _ he thought, the words slow to form themselves,  _ would you kill me? _

The response was hesitant, and sounded pained.  _ I’d prefer not to. _

His fingers curled over the lip of the bridge, sending bits of netherrack tumbling into the glowing, bubbling expanse below. He imagined himself falling with them. Sinking below the surface, feeling his bones burn golden, vaporizing with a hiss until he was rippling through the slurry himself, part of the ocean, thick and slow as syrup.

“That’s not a no,” George said, and felt a sadness that wasn’t his own. 

_ This won’t be easy, George. _

“I know,” George said. He pulled the compass from his belt. It was spinning wildly, and he dropped it down. His chestplate was next, unbuckled hastily. His gauntlets fell—first one, then the other. George didn’t stop to watch them. He dug through his pack, searching for more vestiges of his old life, and something glimmered at him from the bottom—his Academy medallion. He ran his thumb over the surface. It shone dully in the low light, and he let it slip from his fingers.

It seemed to fall in slow motion, ribbon fluttering, before it hit the surface and disappeared in a flash of flame.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, sweat beading up on his forehead, the same five thoughts circling around and around through his head. Finally, he stood. “You know, I think…” He cast one last glance at the lava lake. “I think it’s all going to be alright.”

He made a portal to the Overworld, and slipped back into Anaphora’s blessed coolness.  _ Somehow, I have a feeling it’s going to be fine. _

* * *

George was lying sprawled on the bed of the cheapest inn he could find when Dream decided to make his presence known. 

“Nice digs,” Dream said, leaning on the doorframe. “How much did you pay for all this?”

“Not much,” George said. He sat up. 

“Done running?”

George turned his head, and Dream was smiling, just the tiniest bit. Warmth curled around the inside of his stomach. “I think so.”

“What’d you figure out?”

“You’ve been eavesdropping,” George said. “Shouldn’t you know already?”

“I want you to tell me,” Dream said.

“I have nothing,” George said. “I am nothing. If I disappear tomorrow, the only person that’ll try to find me is Schlatt.” He paused.

“Go on,” Dream said softly. 

“I think you’d try to find me if I disappear,” George said.

“You’re right,” Dream said, and took a step closer. “Why?”

George hesitated, the words stuck in his throat. “I don’t know if I can say it,” he said.

“Then I’ll just have to put it together for you,” Dream said, and strode across the room until he was standing at point-blank range. “Can I?”

“Can you what—?”

Dream ducked his head and kissed him. The heat of it seemed to sear George all the way down to the bone. “It’s been too long since the last time I got to do that,” Dream said.

“You still…”

“I still,” Dream said. He leaned back and studied George. “Did you think I didn’t?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” George muttered.

“I was seventeen when I promised to love you forever,” Dream said, and pushed down on George’s shoulders until George was lying on the bed again, Dream hovering above him. “I’ve come to collect.”

“Take me, then,” George said, and Dream smiled, hands already busy with George’s belt buckle. George busied himself by sucking bruises into Dream’s neck. Dream tugged on the bottom of George’s shirt, and George sat up a little to pull it over his head. 

Divested of his clothes, he was seized by a sudden anxiety, and Dream kissed him. “There is nothing I won’t give you,” he breathed. “Nothing, George, do you hear me?”

Dream fucked him slow and deep on the bedbug-ridden mattress, and George bit ridges into his bottom lip to keep from wailing until Dream thumbed at his lower lip, pulling it from his teeth. “I want to hear you,” he whispered. “I want every sound.”

“Fuck,” George moaned. “Right—fucking—”

“Beg for me,” Dream said. “Say it, George—”

“Dream,” George said.  _ “Skies, _ Dream, please—”

Dream surged forward, capturing George’s lips with his, muffling his moans with an urgent greed. 

It was almost too much. The headboard hitting the wall with every thrust of Dream’s hips. Dream pulling one of George’s legs onto his shoulder, making George see stars. 

“Come for me,” Dream whispered, and George shuddered through his release, Dream’s hand on his cock, pulling him through it.

They collapsed to the bed together, George curled into Dream’s arms.

“...How was that?” Dream asked, and George shoved at him half-heartedly.

“As if you don’t already know.”

Dream smiled. “It’s just…” He paused. “You’re all I have left in the world.”

“You know…” George gripped the compass around Dream’s neck, the arrow pointing straight to him. “We’re not going to be able to disappear forever. Sooner or later, they’ll come for us.”

George curled his fingers around Dream’s forearm. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you, George.” Dream’s grip on him tightened. “Never again.”

“I don’t want to kill you anymore,” George murmured.

“I know, George.” Gentle fingers ran through his hair. “I know.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” George said, and yawned. “I don’t care where we go.”

“Maybe Last North.” Dream’s voice sounded far away. “Good place to disappear.”

George hummed. “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

Dream kissed George’s forehead and said nothing else. He didn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an epilogue left. let me know what you think!


	7. the last witness before the wave hits, marveling at god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They live on borrowed time.

_ 71 of Aestas, 9996 _

_ Last North, Aspernor _

George was tired. But Dream wanted to fix the roof, and so here he was, drawing water painstakingly from the cracks in the tiles as Dream hammered nails into new ones.

“This would be easier if I still had Cruelty,” George muttered. Dream didn’t pause in his work.

“I know you don’t mean that.”

“I don’t,” George said.

Dream hummed. “A lot of things would be easier for you if you still had Cruelty,” he said.

“Do you think I’d still be chasing you around?” George asked.

“No.” Dream didn’t elaborate, and George didn’t ask. “Can you get that one?”

George turned his attention to it, letting the dirty water curl around his hands. “Do you think I’d still want to kill you?”

The noise of hammering stopped, and George glanced over to see Dream staring at his hands. “I think I would’ve let you.”

“You don’t mean that,” George said, taken aback.

“I do,” Dream said, and resumed hammering. “Pass me that last stack of shingles, would you?”

George handed them over. “I love you, you know.”

Dream looked up at him, finally. “I do know that,” he said. “You don’t have to say it to make it true.”

George wasn’t sure he was satisfied with that answer, but all the water had been drawn out of the roof, and there was nothing left to do except watch Dream work. His hands, scarred though they were, were deft and capable. He let his eyes linger on the nape of Dream’s neck, where his hair was prone to curling messily. 

“That’s how I knew you liked me,” Dream said.

George scoffed. “I thought we were past you trying to embarrass me with my own thoughts.”

Dream didn’t lift his eyes from the work, but there was a smile on his face. “I’ve changed, but not that much.” He hammered one final nail into the roof. “What’s for dinner?”

“We have stew,” George said, climbing down and watching as Dream leapt off recklessly. “You’re a menace.”

Dream didn’t say what they were both thinking, but there was a glint in his eye as he followed George into the house. 

“We could replace the roof with tin,” George said. “Might leak less.”

“We’d have to go into town.” Dream didn’t sound opposed to the idea, just pensive. “You know I like to avoid that.”

“You know the wardens don’t care about anything out here,” George said. 

“True.” Dream got the look on his face that meant he was thinking about something entirely unrelated to their conversation, so George tucked the idea away for later.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dream said. He looked around their house, and George did, too.

It was small, and the only other word that could aptly describe it was  _ humble. _ Cobbled together from clay and technically stolen wood, it was filled with the little artifacts that make a life, if not of lower quality than they’d both been used to in the past.

It was amazing what a year on the run did to your standards. There wasn’t frequently a day that went by where George didn’t think about it.

“Remember last Ver?”

“I don’t think I could forget last Ver,” George said.

“Do you remember what you said to me, right before we fell asleep?”

“Right before we both doomed ourselves to lice, you mean?” George snorted. “Um… no. Jog my memory for me.”

Dream took a seat. “You mentioned that we couldn’t run forever.”

“Yes,” George said. “I meant it then.”

“Do you mean it now?” Dream asked, and George realized that Dream was gripping the compass that still hung around his neck. He wondered, if he died, would it still point to him? He still hadn’t answered Dream’s question, and he busied himself with the ladle, serving bowls of stew.

“I think so,” George said, after a minute, putting the bowls down on the table. “I think… we’ve gotten very lucky.”

“But luck runs out,” Dream finished, tapping his fingers on the table. 

“Luck runs out,” George echoed. He picked up his spoon, but his appetite had quite vanished. 

They chatted quietly through dinner, and retired early that night. Dream made love to George with a certain intensity, the press of his lips urgent in a way it rarely was these days. 

They were getting older. George felt the passage of time as acutely as he’d always felt everything, and documented it to himself with meticulous precision. He knew Dream was doing the same, if only because every thought that flickered through George’s head found its way to Dream’s as well. 

Dream’s hands on his waist were steady and strong, though, and George felt the love well up in his heart as sure as anything. After, when they curled into each other, warding off the ever-present chill of Last North, Dream whispered, “I wish…” and didn’t continue.

Dream wasn’t often in the habit of self-censoring in the middle of sentences, at least not to George, and George lifted his head to give him an inquisitive look. 

“I wish this could last,” Dream said.

George bit his lip. “It’ll last as long as it needs to,” he said finally.

“You haven’t made good on your promise,” Dream whispered. 

“Have I broken a promise to you yet, Dream?”

Dream wrapped an arm around him, warm and all-encompassing, and George let his head fall back down onto Dream’s shoulder. “I can think of a few,” Dream said, and George laughed quietly.

“When the time comes,” George said, “I want to know you’ll think of me.”

Dream frowned. George knew he’d picked up on the double meaning. “Alright,” he said, pulling George still closer. “Consider it done.” 

Dream’s compass ticked as George shifted. 

“Do you have any regrets?” George asked.

“I wish we’d gotten more books,” Dream said. “I’m getting tired of flipping through the enchanted ones.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dream kissed him. “I don’t think you’d like my answer.”

“Answer it anyway,” George said, trailing his fingers down Dream’s arm.

“Yes,” Dream said. “I have regrets.” He stared past George, fixing his eyes on a crumbling brick in the wall. “You’ve been weird today.”

George hummed. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“I know,” Dream said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I guess I…” George hesitated, and chose his words carefully, despite. “I’ve been thinking about whether this was really the right choice.”

“I have that thought all the time,” Dream said. 

“Really?”

“Look,” Dream said, tipping George’s chin up with a finger. “We’ve always been us.” He paused. “Are things ideal now? No, of course not. Would I trade it in for the alternative? Absolutely not.” He guided George’s head back down into the crook of his neck. 

They were living on borrowed time. They both knew it. The clock on their wall—stolen—counted the seconds quietly, weighing the balance of their lives, a study in entropy. George knew precisely the shape of their days ahead, felt he could hold the sum total of their lives in his hands and still have room left over. 

George tucked his head more closely into Dream’s neck, closed his eyes. “It’s always been you,” he murmured. 

“It’s always going to be,” Dream said. “Until the end.”

* * *

_ There’s the smell of rust; it hangs heavy in his throat. He looks up, and they make eye contact. The door rattles again, shudders. The candle on the table flickers and goes out.  _

_ They don’t deal in platitudes. Everything there is to say has already been said. They both know their love is eternal, and they have so little time left. _

_ They kiss one last time. In the desperate press of lips is everything they have said, everything they have lived for, everything they are willing to die for. _

_ Bitter almonds linger on his tongue.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! let me know what you think!


End file.
